


Cracks in Everything

by justalittlegreen



Series: Sunshine and Filth [38]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Birth, Multi, OT3, Polyfidelity, earthquake, home birth, stinson beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: Set at least 3 years after the events of "Breath" and a good 8 months after the events of Ottumwaverse, Peg goes into labor immediately following an earthquake, stranded at the Stinson Beach house with Erin and no power or water.





	1. Chapter 1

She'd imagined it before - that something would happen, they'd be stuck somewhere, and she'd go into labor, and there'd be no choice but for BJ to deliver the baby. His voice would fill her head, reassuring and firm. "You can do it, Peg," he'd say while she floated in pain. "Everything is perfectly normal, and it's going to be okay."

She'd believe him when he said that, and that's what would make it okay. This time, she'd be awake for it, and it would hurt like hell, and she'd be scared to death, and they'd be together to welcome their next child into the world. That's what made it a fantasy instead of a nightmare. 

The script had not, and would have never called for the fact BJ wouldn't be with her when the earthquake hit. That he'd be called back to the hospital not minutes after he left to join them in Stinson Beach for the weekend. That she'd be there with Erin, alone, when the first clench of labor overtook her. 

And yet. 

Realistically, she knew she had time. It was just one squeeze. It might be nothing. And there were still aftershocks to contend with, and the cabinets, which had thankfully held shut (she throws BJ a silent thank-you for insisting on doors that latched) but were now filled with broken glassware. Oh, and a terrified toddler who seemed intent on climbing straight back into her womb, if at all possible. 

"There, there," she says as Erin struggles to stay on what is left of her lap. "Come on, my girl, let's go to bed. Whatever time it is, it's definitely bedtime." 

It's not a great idea - Erin shrieks and thrashes as Peg wrestles each of her little arms through the sleeves of her nightgown, bawls at having her face washed. Peg feels two more contractions - the second one makes her pause for a second - in the hour and a half it takes to get Erin into bed. Without really thinking, she reaches for the sheets and bundles her tight, swaddling her the same way the nurse had the day she was born. It's a lot harder this time, with Erin simultaneously boneless and trying to kick her in the face. It doesn't frustrate her the way it usually does, though. She's too stunned, her mind six hours ahead of now, to take it personally. 

Another hour. Four more pains, roughly fifteen minutes apart, by her watch. She starts looking around, wondering where the hell the night is going next. BJ will still be at the hospital. She should try to get there before she can't drive. She can put Erin in the backseat. The hospital will be crowded, but who will be able to turn away a laboring mother, and the wife of an emergency surgeon at that? 

She heads outside into the eerie yellow light. The ocean looks as impassive and unchanged as it ever has, rolling over the beach as it always does, undisturbed and uncaring. The driveway, however is another story. Where their smooth, steep asphalt driveway once was is now a roller coaster with a hole in it. A large hole. More of a gorge, really, running straight down the middle and sending the asphalt into an avalanche of pieces. 

"Fuck," she says aloud. And then another pain hits, deeper, harder, and she lurches, leaning against the doorframe. "FUUUUUCK!" 

She is definitely going to die here. Women are not supposed to die in childbirth, not anymore, but they're also supposed to give birth in modern hospitals, with medicine, and their husbands just down the hall, and definitely not alone, or in the middle of a postapocalyptic beach with no - 

"PEGGY?!" The shout comes from above, from beyond the curve in the driveway. Peggy yells "I'm here!" and hears skittering, stumbling, the sound of someone trying to run on broken ground. For a moment, she thinks it's BJ. He's come after all, and it's going to be okay, but she also knows the voice isn't his. And when Hawkeye comes skittering around the bend, eyes wild with relief and residual panic, she can't pretend she's glad to see him. 

"Peg, are you all right?" He's got his arms around her, and she's shaking, shaking so hard she can hardly stand, and he's got his fingers jammed up under her chin and he's saying "Your heart's going like a hummingbird, let's get you inside before you fall over - is Erin - where's Erin, Peg?" 

She starts to say "She's asleep," and the next pain hits with a ferocity that steals her breath. She slumps against Hawkeye, digging her nails in, breathing hard and hoarse. His eyes go wide. 

"I thought I heard you swearing," he says in his ridiculous, improbable, calm and winking way. "I guess I know why. How far apart are they, Peggy? How long has this been going on?" 

"Few hours," she gets out. It's like someone's punched the wind out of her. "Erin's okay. Sleeping." 

"Perfect," he says. "Let's get you inside."


	2. Chapter 2

He holds her carefully as they make their way in through the sliding door. The couch is halfway across the room from where it should be, and the table's gone clear out to the deck. Hawkeye eases her down on the couch, turns her and helps her get her feet up. He starts massaging them the way she loves, digging his thumbs in deep, and the gesture is almost too much. Peg starts sniffling, then crying.

Hawkeye puts her foot down. "Peggy?" 

"I'm okay," she tries to tell him. "I just - I don't know - I want _BJ_ " she says, breaking down into sobs. He stands up and comes to kneel by her head. He slips an arm under her neck and pulls her to his chest as best he can. 

"Peggy," he says, and his voice is so gentle it could break her, "BJ can't come right now. They'll need him. They'll need him to help people." 

"I need him to help _me,_ " she half-wails. 

"And what am I, chopped liver?" he says, mock-offended. But the joke dissolves as quickly as it comes, and he's back to his bedside manner. "Peggy, you are healthy, I am - according to my last box of Cracker Jacks - a doctor, and we are going to have this baby safely, okay? You have to trust me. Do you trust me?" 

"Don't ask me that," she whispers. "I'm trying." 

"I know," he says quietly, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. "I want him here, too. But we are going to get through this, okay, Peggy Jane? We are going to be okay because we have to be. Because we've got each other." 

She takes a deep breath and nods as the next pain hits. "Ooookay," Hawkeye says soothingly as she pants through it. "That's it. You're doing fantastic. I'm right here. I'm right. here. Take my hand if you need to." 

She does, and it's warm and dry and solid and she squeezes him like a lemon, but he doesn't complain. "That's right, Peggy, attagirl. I've got you. I'm right here. Try to keep breathing." He wraps her in a steady cocoon of words, tethering her, and damnit, it's not BJ and she wants BJ, but damn if she doesn't believe him, too. They're going to be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't want to _do_ this anymore!" Peg cries, panting as the pain rushes her. They're in the darkest part of the night, witching hours. The moon is too small to offer any light, and the power's out. Hawkeye found a flashlight, which he's using to check her progress, and a few candles, and she can just make him out.

If she weren't terrified and exhausted, it'd be almost romantic. 

"Peg, from what I can see, you _are_ doing this. This is normal. Things are moving along," he says in his best bedside voice. She wants to kick him in the face, but it hurts too much, so she gives in to weeping instead, burying her face in the crook of her arm. Nothing about this is right. Nothing about this is okay. 

"Peggy?" His voice is too soft. He's too uncertain. The pain subsides for a minute and she can catch her breath. 

"I don't want to do this," she says again, trying to roll off the couch. "I want to go to the hospital. I want _BJ._ I can't do this without him." She's halfway to her feet when the pain rushes back, and she staggers, falls back down, and screams as much in frustration as in pain. 

Hawkeye reaches up to mop her brow and she swipes his hand out of the way. "You're not BJ!" she screams, sounding hysterical even to herself. She curls away from as best she can, pulling her knees up in a miserable knot. * 

"I know. I know, and it's not fair. He was supposed to be here. You were supposed to be there." His voice has lost its patient removal; he's talking urgently, firm and low. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." Damn right it wasn't," she whispers. She feels a hand on her shoulder, firm and gentle. 

"Peggy, I know it wasn't supposed to go like this and it's hard and it hurts. But this baby is coming and we are going to get to meet him by sunrise. By _sunrise_ Peg. Because the sun is coming back, and I promise, BJ - " he stops. "We are going to get back to the city as soon as we can so BJ can meet his little boy. But first, we are going to get him here. You and me. Just you and me." 

The pain slams into her; her body doesn't like the way she's curled up. Peg jerks back, and Hawkeye says in a voice she's never heard before, "Up on your knees, Peg. Lean on the back of the couch, that's it. Get _up._ Good girl." His voice is firm and sure and commanding; the voice she uses when she needs Erin to get the hell out of the street. It's a million times better than his timid acquiescence. She gets up. 

"Good. Is that easier?" She can't entirely tell, but the pain begins to recede, and she nods. "Good. Stay here until it doesn't work anymore." He comes around next to her, slips an arm around her waist as she leans her forearms on the back of the couch, eyes closed, head down. 

In the two hours that follow, they follow the lightening of the sky as Peg finally stops resisting the urge to push. Hawkeye's at her back, digging the heels of his hands into the spot where the baby's feet are excruciatingly braced against some vital organ. In theory, equalizing the pressure should work, but she's sweating and shaking with the pain. 

"Damnit, Peg, I need you to /push!/" 

"I _can't_ " 

"Yes you can! You can do this - no, you _have_ to do this." 

"I can't; I can't I can't - " 

Suddenly, the pressure of his hands are gone and he's fumbling around the couch, hands on her cheeks, forehead to forehead. "Find it," he whispers fiercely. "Peg, if we get stuck here, it's going to hurt the baby. _I need you to push._ We need to get him out. Now. Do you hear me? Reach deep and /find it./" 

She can't hear anything other than "hurt the baby," over and over and over. Hawk's hands smooth her hair, rub her back. "Got that? Next one comes, and you give it everything you've got." 

She nods, and they wait the few seconds it takes for the next one to come. She's shaking. "Hawkeye, I - " 

"What is it?" 

She opens her mouth, but the pain rushes her before she can get the words out and he's right there with her, cheering, coaching, "COME on, Peg, that's it, that's it, push, keep going, keep going don't stop, YES. GOOD." She loses herself in the babble, letting him pull her along. 

By the time Erin walks in, she's past exhausted, past pain, past fear, somewhere deep in a tunnel that crumbles behind her as she moves through it. She's got her feet up on Hawkeye's shoulders; the room smells heavy: salt, sweat, fear, primal and strong. She doesn't remember what she says to Erin, only wills herself not to scream in front of her. 

And then Erin's gone and she can feel a searing, hears Hawkeye swear, "Damnit, ok, ok, you're there, Peg, we're there, stop pushing, he's almost here, almost here, I can feel his head - " 

"I KNOW!" she yells with one last burst of energy. "I CAN FEEL IT TOO, IDIOT!" 

He ignores her. "I'm going to try and slow him down so you don't tear because I'll be damned if I'm stitching you up with a sewing needle, hear me?" 

She nods, willing her body to do what needs to be done. 

The last pushes are a blur of her own voice with Hawkeye's, a white-hot light that narrows her vision. Time slows down. She can see the end of the tunnel, can feel herself being propelled towards it. She can't see him, but she knows BJ is there. BJ is there, and it carries her through until she can open her eyes. 

The most surprising thing about opening her eyes is not that Hawkeye is there, or that the pain is half-gone, but that she can _breathe_. Deep, perfect lungfuls that have evaded her for an eternity. She drinks the air, gulps it. And by the third breath (it's only been a second, but it feels so much longer) she realizes - it's dawn. She can see Hawkeye, who is cradling the baby, wrapped in an undershirt and looking at him like he's seeing Gd. 

" _Peg,_ he whispers, his voice overflowing with wonder. "Peg, he's _perfect._ " 

She holds her arms out, too tired to say anything, and Hawkeye hands him over, carefully holding the cord and making sure it's out of the way. He's right - the baby is perfect. Red and caked in afterbirth, despite Hawk's best attempts to rub him down, with whorls of black hair tufting all over his perfectly smushed head. 

And then the baby opens his eyes, for just long enough for her to see what she imagines is a perfect replica of infant Hawkeye Pierce. 

She looks up from her arms; Hawkeye is sitting on the floor, shirt soaked through and streaked with all kinds of viscera, and his eyes are shining, brimming, and his hand is half over his mouth. "Peg - " 

"We did it," she whispers, cracking a grin. "We did it." 

He scrambles to his knees and cups the back of her neck and kisses her gently. The room smells like a cave, the earth has shaken itself to pieces, and nothing in the world could possibly be more right. 

She could stay in that moment forever, but as soon as they break the kiss, she feels the start of another contraction and moans. Hawkeye hurriedly takes the baby from her and nestles him into the crook of the couch cushions. 

"Peg? Listen, do you remember this part?" This part? What the hell is he talking about? The confusion must show on her face because he continues, "We're not done yet, sweetheart. This baby's been hanging out in a cozy little home for the last nine months and now it's time to move out and clean house. And if we don't get it all, there's going to be trouble so I'm going to make sure we get it all out ok? I need you to trust me." 

Like she has any other choice. Peg nods. 

He takes a deep breath, shifts his gaze to the sleeping baby for one more minute, and presses his hands down on her abdomen as hard as he can. She can feel him straining as he digs the heel of his bottom hand in , circling. Their faces are close together, both of them panting, Peg groaning. "I need you to tell me when you feel a contraction - like before, but less intense," he huffs as they figure out how to work it through. Peg nods, and knocks her forehead against his by accident, and the moment is such slapstick that they both laugh as Hawkeye groans, unable to lift a hand to his head. She kisses it for him instead, again and again, butterflies against his skin, until the contraction hits and she throws her head back against the couch. 

They are definitely going to have to burn this couch. 

The sun is high and she can hear the birds for the first time all night. The afterbirth delivery leaves her feeling queasy, without the benefit of the good baby feelings to carry her through it, and the way Hawkeye holds it up and _inspects_ it makes her want to throw up. 

"Okay," he says, and there's such relief in his voice that she wonders how worried she should've been for the last twenty minutes. "We got it all. Good job." 

From there, he grabs a stack of kitchen towels, the rubbing alcohol from the med kit in the bathroom, and a few other things so he can cut the cord and clean up a little. He brings Peg a fresh nightgown and she throws a pile of clean towels on the other end of the couch to sit on. When they're as clean as they can possibly get, she puts the baby to her breast, the way she's seen Joan do it, and miracle of miracles, he latches. They sit together for a minute, marveling at the way his ears move as he swallows. Go get Erin," she whispers, suddenly desperate to see her girl. He gives her one more kiss, and starts to get up, but a few steps away, he pauses with his back to her. 

"Peg?" 

"Hawkeye?" 

"What are we going to call him?" 

She looks down. Such a bundle of complications. She isn't letting herself think about it yet. The world has broken. BJ still doesn't know. This baby doesn't exist yet, not really. 

He's fallen asleep at her breast, and she pulls him up to her shoulder, rubbing his little back through the folds of BJ's undershirt. 

"Benjamin." 

"Yes?" 

"No, that's what I want to call him. Benjamin. Benjamin Jay. If anyone asks, we'll say we named him for his father." 

She expects him to cry - hell, she's halfway to a sob - but instead, she sees him grow an inch and a half before her eyes, as he strides out of the room without a word, practically glowing.


	4. Erin's Interlude

_They say that you don't always remember things the way you think you do. That even the clearest things can be manipulated in your mind, that if a memory seems entirely impossible, you might've made the thing up.  
_

I'm pretty sure I didn't, though. 

I was five the night of the earthquake. My mother and I were alone in our beach house when the earth started shaking. I could hear things breaking, and I froze. My mother, who was incredibly pregnant - the most about which I remember being mad that I couldn't fit on her lap anymore - grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the doorway with her, where we sat, and she tried to hold me around her belly, her hands barely meeting around my chest. 

I think I lost my head after that - I remember being wrapped in a tight blanket, and my mother saying, "It's all over now, all over," even though the earth kept coughing in little spasms that shook the house, rattled the broken glass in its hutch. 

The next thing I remember is waking up because my mother was screaming. Unearthly screaming, nothing like the way she'd call my name in exasperation, or the way she'd shout to my father across the beach. This was wordless. There were tears in it. I remember trying to bury my head under the pillow and pressing it to my ears. She'd stop for a little while, only to start up again. 

Suddenly, I thought: what if someone's hurting her? What if there's a bad guy and he's going to kill me? 

I think I was about to wet my pants with fear, when I heard another voice. It was loud, too, but calmer, confident. "That's it Peg, you're doing wonderfully, so good, just give it a good hard push now, come on!" 

Hawkeye. I'd never been so glad to hear his voice. It was all I needed to get out of bed. I ran for the comforting sound of him. I knew he'd scoop me into his arms and tell me where my father was and why the world was broken and then he'd fix my mother. 

It was what he did, after all. 

My mother saw me first, since Hawkeye was turned away from the door. I stopped short in the doorway, dragging the blanket behind me. She was sitting on the couch, her feet up on Hawkeye's shoulders. He had his hands under her skirt. I remember that. She was sweaty and red; her hair had come out of its ponytail and frizzed around her shoulders. 

"Erin!" she said, half gasp, half shriek. "Hawkeye, Hawkeye - " she threw her head back and gritted her teeth, trying not to scream, I think, in front of me. 

"Erin, I know you're there, and I want you to do a job for me. Can you be a big girl and do that?" Hawkeye asked. Before I could answer, he addressed my mother again. "Peg, you have to breathe or this isn't gonna work. In and out, in and out, come on. This isn't the asphyxiation tango." 

My mother started panting again, small strangled grunts coming from her throat. 

"Erin," he called again. "Are you still there?" 

I nodded. 

"Can't hear you, sweetheart." 

"I'm here, Hawki." 

"Okay. I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay? Your mommy is okay. I know it's scary, but you're going to meet your little brother or sister in just a little while. She's having a baby, and that hurts sometimes, but it's going to be all right. You understand?" 

My mother's breath slowed, and she opened her eyes again. "Erin, honey, listen to Hawkeye. Mommy's okay. Mommy's going to be just fine. Come here, sweetheart." She held out an arm and I dashed past Hawkeye, up onto the couch, and curled against her side. She kissed the top of my head. Hawkeye looked up from between her legs and blew me a kiss. "I need you to do what Hawkeye says, sweetie. Can you do that for me?" 

I must have said yes. Memory fritzes like that. 

"I want you to do something very important for me," he said quickly. He must've known it'd be only a few seconds before the next one hit. "I need you to go to your room and get every piece of paper and every crayon you can find, and I need you to make the biggest sign any of us has ever seen. Go get the scotch tape from my desk. You can even use the stapler. But it has to be big and colorful, and it has to say BABY. Can you do that?" 

I'd learned to spell BABY from my father, and I nodded. He grinned at me like he was proud. "Attagirl. You go in there and you keep making that sign until I come get you. And if you hear Mommy making noise, just know that we're okay and everything's going to be fine." 

My mother kissed my head again and I took off. 

I don't remember what happened for awhile. I don't remember the sign I made, though I've seen it in a few photos of the party we held to celebrate Benjamin's birth. I remember that after I left the room, I could hear my mother screaming again, only this time, Hawkeye matched her fervor with his cheerleading, and that helped. It wasn't so bad as long as I could hear him shouting "Yes, Peg, come on, that's it, you're almost there - you're almost there, give me just a little more. A little more now, one more push, YES! Good girl. Good girl." 

It could've been an hour. It could've been three. Maybe I fell asleep on the floor, surrounded by crayons. 

What I do remember is that Hawkeye had blood on his shirt when he came into the bedroom. How he squatted next to me, his hands still bearing traces of blood (we must not have had water; he must have just scrubbed them as best he could with a towel.) How he asked if I was ready to meet my brother. 

I must have said yes. 

My mother held Benjamin wrapped in a bath towel, on the couch. She looked up when I came in with Hawkeye, and her smile was as bright as the oncoming sun. I remember how happy she looked to see me. How she whispered, "Erin, my Erin. You were so brave." 

I remember sitting next to her on the couch and poking at her belly while Benjamin slept in her arms. How Hawkeye sat on my other side. 

I do remember this: he was crying. It was the first time I'd seen someone cry and laugh at the same time, and perhaps I tried to wipe his tears, because I remember him saying, "Let them fall, Erin. Not all crying is sad." 

I don't remember when they told me his name. 

I do remember his eyes, when he finally opened them. They were blue as the ocean. And his hair was dark, little whorls of it all over his head. 

I remember that my mother gave him to Hawkeye, and Hawkeye cried and cried. I remember my mother reaching over me to touch the back of his head, to soothe him in a way that didn't urge him to stop. She didn't shush him, like she did me. 

The baby's face was getting wet, and I grabbed the corner of the blanket and wiped his cheeks. 

I remember Hawkeye saying, "Look at you. Twenty minutes a big sister and you're already such a natural. I knew you had it in you." 

I remember that the sun came, and we looked around together at everything that'd been smashed and broken in the night. 

I don't remember when my father met Benjamin. I couldn't tell you if he cried. 

What I can tell you is that I was a jealous little hellion for reasons I couldn't name. It took me until I was grown to finally understand that my five-year-old self was somehow aware that he would have what I hadn't. I'd had my mother. He would have her plus two fathers, and the knowledge of it burned. 

It was never a question, after that, whether Hawkeye was staying or not. 

My father spent the next year fixing up the beach house. He took me with him sometimes, just the two of us. He let me hand him nails and taught me how to caulk. My mother and Hawkeye bought new dishes. 

We all together pushed the dining room table back into the house, and then sat around it for dinner. 

We moved to Stinson Beach that summer. 

I was twenty when I realized why they'd named him Benjamin. 

This, I remember: that I poked my head into the study, found Hawkeye reading. "You named him Benjamin," I said. 

Finally, he said, "Yes." 

Fifteen years after the earthquake, it was my turn to cry. He stood up and pulled me into his arms, and I cried for a thousand reasons I couldn't name. I give him a lot of credit, though; he didn't try to shush me. He just let them fall. 

"Hawkeye?" 

"Erin?" 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" 

He signed into my hair, and kissed my head. "No," he said finally. "We didn't think it mattered." 

"It did." 

"Then I'm glad we decided that if you ever asked, we'd be honest." 

"How...?" 

"That's a conversation you had with your mother when you were eight, I'm quite certain. You need me to go over the basics again?" 

I leaned back and smacked him on the arm. "Hawkeye." 

"Okay, okay! You deserve a real answer, I'll give you that. I think this is the important part: there was a part of me that loved your mother before I met her. And a part of me that worried that she'd never feel the same way, or that she'd hate me for how much I loved your dad. And she was scared, too. And that it took a long time for us to see just how deeply committed we both were. But the night he was born, that did it. It answered every question we'd been too afraid to ask. Does that answer your question?" 

_I must have said yes._


End file.
